Attributes of Love: Outtakes
by Dimcairien
Summary: Various little scenes that either didn't make it into the finished work or the ideas came after the chapter in which they should have taken place. For the most part, there won't be much plot development, but there might be some character development. Info about where each outtake fits in is in the chapter.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N This is going to be a series of scenes that I've thought of that didn't get into the main storyline. They won't be overly important, but it might play a role in character development.**_

_**I'm almost finished with the next chapter of Love Prevail's, so that should be out fairly soon.**_

_**This one-shot takes place in the two weeks between chapters 4 and 5. Angst warning. Also, I know some of Matthew's thoughts in this chapter are a bit conflicting with thoughts in chapters three and four of LP, but this chapter also takes place during one of his depressed moods, when he isn't thinking as clearly.**_

_Everywhere he looked there was mud and blood. It was all around him and covered everything. Nothing had escaped. He held his gun firmly in his right hand as he crawled through the mess Suddenly he heard a noise and looked up. Someone was standing there, in the middle of no-man's-land. It was Mary! What was she doing there? He tried to shout, to warn her, but suddenly she collapsed and began to bleed. He tried to run to her, but he couldn't move. "Mary! Mary!" he shouted._

Suddenly he felt someone shaking his shoulder gently and calling in a soft voice, "Matthew! Matthew! Wake up!"

His eyes flew open and he looked around wildly. There wasn't any mud or blood to be seen. White walls met his eyes. _Where was he? What was happening? Why couldn't he move?_

"Matthew," the voice said again.

He turned his head and finally saw the speaker. "Mother," he cried. "Get down, it's not safe. Where's Mary? She's hurt!."

"She's gone back to the Abbey to sleep," Isobel answered calmly as she placed a hand on her son's shoulder. "You've had a nightmare. You're at the hospital in Downton Village."

Matthew continued to stare blankly ahead and didn't respond. He didn't know where he was, but he couldn't be at the hospital. He was still in the trenches. "No, no," he said hurriedly. "I'm not there, you're lying. I'm in France, in the trenches." There were a few seconds of silence before Matthew said in a panicked tone, "What's wrong with me? Why can't I move my legs?" His arms began to fling wildly around and he couldn't control them.

Isobel reached out and grabbed one of her son's hands and held it still. She gently rubbed his arm and gradually he began to calm down. "Matthew, son," she said gently. "You're home. You're safe. Please, Matthew, look at me."

He stopped flailing and turned his head. "Mother," he breathed in relief. "What happened? Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital," Isobel repeated calmly. "You were injured and were brought to the hospital at Downton."

Matthew nodded in understanding. That much he remembered. He furrowed his eyebrows, knowing there was much more. He tried to move into a more comfortable position, but was unable to turn his body. His eyes opened wide as he remembered what else he had been told: the dreadful truth that neither his body nor his mind could accept.

"Matthew?"

He let out a low grown of pain. Everywhere but his legs hurt and he remembered why. "Why?" he moaned. "Why?" He clenched his fingers into a fist, wincing slightly at the pain of the movement, but relishing it in a strange way at the same time.

"Matthew?" Isobel said again. "Son?"

"Why am I a cripple?"

"Matthew! You're not," Isobel admonished, horrified that her son could even think to call himself one.

"I am, Mother," Matthew answered slowly. "I'm paralyzed. I'm helpless. Why am I even alive?" His voice had grown louder and louder with each statement, with the question almost a shout. "I wish I had died in that shell blast," he said through gritted teeth. "It would have been far better to have died than to have woken up in this damned world where I am nothing."

Isobel didn't say anything. She continued to hold her son's hand in one of hers, but with the other gently stroked his hair. He wasn't in any state to reason with and she knew at this moment, he simply needed to vent. It hurt so much to see him like this, but at the moment, she knew there wasn't anything she could do for him except be by his side.

"Why did I survive if my life is to be a helpless existence?" Matthew asked, still clearly angry, but this time almost in tears as well. "I can't live like this, Mother. I can't!"

"I don't know, my son," Isobel said calmly. "But, you're home and you're alive. Things aren't always going to be this dismal. You will get stronger and you will have a life. You will learn how to live again, my son."

"A life of a cripple isn't a life," Matthew responded angrily. "It's just another version of hell on earth."

Isobel looked into her son's eyes and what she saw frightened her. The look of love and relief she had seen when she had arrived the previous day, was replaced with a dark, steely glare. She had never seen a look of such pure emptiness before, even during her time as a nurse during the Boer War. _What had happened in her son during these last four years to make such a change in him?_ She knew he wasn't suffering from shell-shock, but her son who was laying in the hospital was a very different man than who she watched go to war.

Matthew meanwhile was finding himself sinking deeper and deeper into despair. He was a cripple, he was helpless, incompetent, half of a man! He didn't even deserve to be called a human being anymore, his body was so mutilated. It would be so easy to simply end it all and escape. He didn't know how long he was in this disturbing place in his mind, but he was quickly jerked out of his dismal thoughts by a soft voice.

"Matthew. Matthew," it said. "Come back to me son."

He turned his head and his eyes found his mother. Suddenly, he felt a wave of calmness pass over him and any thoughts of offing himself were gone. Once again, he was horrified and disgusted at himself that he had even contemplated it. He felt like he might be sick, but managed to avoid doing so, much to his relief.

"Matthew," his mother repeated again, still gentle but also very firm at the same time.

"Mother," Matthew sighed in relief. "I… I don't know what happened. I… I hate myself for those thoughts. They just … they just show up." _I don't want them to_, he screamed inwardly. _I can't control them._

"Shh," Isobel gently whispered as she continued to comb her fingers through his hair. "I know, son. I know it's not really you saying those things. You will have more than your fair share of challenges in life, but I promise you, you will have a life."

"I know that, Mother," Matthew sad sadly, Sybil's words to him on his first night of consciousness in the hospital flooding back to him. "But I cannot believe it. I'm laying here, almost completely helpless, and will be in a similar situation for my entire life. How can I believe there's a life beyond being an invalid for the next fifty years?"

"I don't know," Isobel said simply. "All I know is that you will find something to cling on to that will keep you going; something that will make you want to live again. I don't know what it could possibly be, but something is out there."

Matthew turned his head away from his mother and stared at the ceiling. There wasn't anything he could cling to. He had lost Mary; he had lost Lavinia; he was incapable of being an earl. There wasn't anything he could cling to, nothing that he could hold in his hand or see that could give him the courage to continue. "There isn't anything I can hold on to," he muttered despairingly. He could feel another bought of depression arriving and fought hard against it, but it was swiftly gaining control.

"Have you thought of praying?" Isobel asked.

Matthew blinked in surprise and the feeling of depression repressed itself. _Why hasn't he thought of prayer?_ It had sustained him and his men in the trenches so many times, but it hasn't occurred to him to pray from his bed. He had no clue as to why. As he mulled over this thought, he heard his mother stand up. She placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "I'll be back with your dinner in a minute. Please think about what I said."

He heard his mother walk away and as she did so, he murmured, "God, help me." And instead of the overwhelming grief that too often struck when he was alone, he felt a strange sense of peace. For the first time in ages, he had a feeling of calmness deep within him.

Life was going to be extremely difficult from here on out, but he could make it; he could survive. He knew that these thoughts could not possibly be coming from him. As he lay there, contemplating this strange feeling, he knew that no matter how depressed he got in the days to come, somehow he'd survive. He had no clue how, but he would pull through.


	2. Unlocking the Prison of the Mind

_**A/N This one takes place in the three week gap between chapters 5 and 6. **_

_**You will notice that I've changed the name of this collection. That is to reflect the decision on the name of the series for my Downton Abbey universe. Even though Love Prevails is now finished, I'll continue to post missing scenes from gaps in the rest of the series. I'm nearly done with the first chapter of the sequel, so that should be up in a few days.**_

One month. Four-and-a-half weeks. Thirty-two days. It had been that long since his life had changed for good. He currently was sitting listlessly up in bed, propped up with countless pillows, staring off into space.

Why? Why? Why? That question always plagued him, even during his slightly better moods. Why was he alive if he was simply to be a helpless, crippled invalid for the rest of his life? Several times when he was in a dark mood, the thought of ending everything had taken hold and thankfully someone had been there to calm and comfort him each time. He dreaded the idea of that mood coming on when there wasn't anyone nearby to stop him. He knew that when a bought of depression hit him, hardly anything could pull him out and he was entirely unpredictable whilst in one. He knew he was improving in that regard thanks to his conversation with his mother, but it was still a struggle.

Yes, he knew he still had an active mind, but that wasn't enough to equate a man. He was forever dependent to be cared for by others and for that reason alone, the fact he was alive seemed pale. He didn't care that he was improving and that Clarkson had told him that within the next week or two he'd be transferred to the Abbey. There, he'd have to live as a helpless cripple in the place he had so often visited and was to eventually live in.

The sound of footsteps coming towards him jolted him back to the reality of the hospital. "Go away, Mother," he muttered, not looking at the person who had just arrived. He didn't want to have contact with anyone.

"I'm afraid I'm not your mother," said a somewhat amused man's voice.

He turned his head and said dully, "Robert."

Robert sat down on the chair by the bed. "How are you doing, Matthew?"

Matthew didn't reply for several long, silent seconds. He simply sat there, staring into nothingness. He couldn't think how to even answer the question. He couldn't do anything except sit here with his thoughts and so often, he didn't want to have those for company. Yes, his mother had regularly brought him books, but they were lonely company, at least at the moment.

"Matthew?"

"What?"' he asked curtly.

"How's your recovery going?"

"Recovery?" laughed Matthew bitterly as he turned his head to look up at the ceiling. "What recovery? The ability to sit up in bed propped with countless pillows? Being able to be pushed in a wheelchair? Always needing help for just about every little thing? If that's a recovery, I'm doing great."

Robert looked sadly at the young man who had become like a son to him. "Matthew, my lad, you're getting stronger. You will be able to sit up yourself and wheel yourself someday. You will gain a sense of independence," Robert said confidently.

"I'm always going to be in a prison!" Matthew nearly shouted, not caring who heard him. "A wheelchair or bed for life with constant assistance in everything is a prison, not independence."

"You mustn't think like that," replied Robert as he leaned forward and placed his hand on top of Matthew's clenched fist. "This idea of a prison is all in your head. Your physical body may have severe limitations now, but I know your mind is still sharp. Matthew, your mind holds the key to unlocking this prison of self-loathing you're currently in."

"It does not!" Matthew interrupted. "I'm a helpless, crippled, half-man! That's what I am now and nothing more." Everything physical pointed to this fact. It didn't matter that people had told him many times that his mind and soul (whether they were the same was up to debate in his head) but he couldn't see himself as a normal person. He knew the world viewed him as an imbecile and he believed it to be the truth, no matter what his family said to try and prove him wrong. They might not say it out loud, but he knew they thought of him as less than what he had been before. How was it possible for them not to? Surely, every time they looked up him the saw the horrid differences between who he had been and who he was now.

"You are the gentleman I've come to see as my son," Robert responded in a deadly calm voice. "You are my heir, and you are anything but those names you just called yourself. Matthew, if you believe you're helpless, you will be. But, if you're determined to do things yourself, to prove you can still do things, you will surprise yourself with what you can do."

Matthew flung his head back deep into his pillows. His thoughts were so conflicted that he didn't know what to do. He had been told time and time again how wonderful it was that his mind was whole. But, how could he honestly believe that when just about everything else had been taken away from his life? God, he thought, I know that my mind is whole and that I have a chance at life, but help me to believe it. Time and time again he had struggled to believe what everyone told him, but he always sank back into what he knew was the world's view of a cripple. He didn't want to have that view of himself, but because it kept returning, surely it had to be true.

"Would you like to go outside?" Robert asked, interrupting his tirade of thoughts.

"What?" he asked, before becoming aware of the question posed to him. "Oh, I, uh, I guess I would."

"Well then, let's get you ready," Robert said. A few moments later, he was back with an orderly and together they helped Matthew into his wheelchair. Robert pushed him through the ward and to the small yard in front of the hospital. Matthew was still fuming inwardly about the need to be pushed, but it was a relief to be somewhere other than his bed.

Matthew took in a deep breath, relishing the fresh air after so long of being cooped up inside. This was his first time outside since the accident. The weather was warm as it was still September, but it wasn't frightfully hot.

Robert stopped under a tree and Matthew reached out and lightly touched the tree bark. It felt rough, and grainy, and real. It was much more pleasant to have at the tips of his fingers rather than sheets and anything else that one might find in a hospital.

"You haven't been outside since you've been back, have you?" asked Robert gently, though it seemed to be more of a statement.

Matthew shook his head. "I'm starting to feel at home though," he quietly replied. "So much of the last four years has been outdoors, but this, this is truly what it means to be outside." He gestured to the well-planned yard. It was beautiful. Many gardeners and women might not think the simple grass and trees made for a beautiful yard, but to him, after so many years of mud, dead trees, and hardly anything green, seeing grass was one of the most pleasant things he could lay his eyes on. He wished he could remove his shoes and run his toes through the grass, enjoying the prickly sensation that came with it. But, that was to never happen again. He couldn't even remove his own shoes for goodness sake!

He looked up at the sky, it was a clear day with a slight breeze and a few clouds sprinkled in the sky. He could feel the wind as it ruffled through his hair and shirt. If he closed his eyes, it was almost as if nothing had happened and he was at Downton with the family on a nice day. He was jolted back to reality when he heard Sybil's voice saying, "So, you've finally made it outside. Good."

"Sybil," he responded. "I mean, Nurse Crawley."

"You don't need to call me that," Sybil laughed. "How are you doing, Matthew?"

"Better, now that I'm finally outdoors where I belong," Matthew answered. "I might have worked in an office as a solicitor but I always felt at home outdoors, though not riding horses." He smiled sadly as he remembered his one escapade on a horse. He had barely made it onto the horse before he was off it: on the other side. Thankfully, he was still in the yard, so Lynch had been able to rescue him, but after that, he had never volunteered to ride with Mary again. And now he never would ride. It was strange that he should miss something he was absolutely terrible at, but he did.

"Matthew? You're a million miles away," Sybil said gently. "Come back."

"Sorry," Matthew mumbled. "I was just … "

"Yes?" prompted Sybil, hoping that it wasn't a war memory that Matthew was drawn into. She doubted it, considering the look on his face was a combination of amusement and embarassment.

"Thinking," Matthew finished. "I was a clumsy oaf the one time I tried to get on a horse back in 1912, but I'll never get another chance. I never thought I'd … I'd miss riding a horse that I barely stayed on top of for a minute, but I do."

"Oh, Matthew," Sybil sighed as she placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "We could figure something out if you want to try riding."

"How?" asked Matthew as he looked up into her eyes, wondering if he had heard her correctly.

"I don't know yet, but there has to be something," Sybil stated firmly. "Just get to the state where you can sit for a duration without needing any back support and there's bound to be a way to get you on a horse."

Matthew looked at his cousin skeptically, but shrugged. If he could do something in paralysis that he had been terrible at when he could walk, what did that say about everything that he had been able to do well and could do no longer? Surely there would be some way of getting some of those things done, right? Obviously, biking was a thing of the past as there was no way to ride a bike without pedaling, but maybe he still did have options out there. If he did, that was yet another thread of hope to grasp.

"Sybil," Robert said a bit uncertainly, "I know you probably mean well, but, shouldn't you be helping Matthew adapt to his new circumstances than telling him that he can still do things like horseback riding?"

Sybil sighed and half-glared at her father. "Papa, part of adapting to a new situation like this is learning what old activities are still possible. Obviously, they are done a bit differently, but on occasion they can still happen. I think horseback riding is one of those. They make saddles with some back support and straps attached to the side to hold paralytics' legs still. All Matthew would need to do would be to sit up straight with little support and guide the horse with the reigns instead of the knees."

Robert sighed, knowing he was beaten, but he turned and looked at Matthew. He looked eager and almost happy for the first time in a month. It was probably longer, but he didn't have any other evidence to base his observations off of.

"Robert, please," Matthew said quietly. "I need to have normal things that I can hang on to. I'll never … I'll never get out of this damn chair and walk on my own two legs again, but if there are things I can do almost normally, I have to try. I know I was a clumsy oaf the one time I got on a horse, and Sybil can attest to that, but I think I might feel almost whole again on one. At least, it would look almost normal."

"Simply concentrate on getting as healthy as you can," said Sybil. "And in the spring, I'll talk to Lynch about getting something figured out."

"Thank you," Matthew replied. He was just now starting to think he might have a few shreds of life that he could still cling to. Ever since the talk with his mother, he was trying to discover what they were and here was another that was nearly in his grasp. He was gradually learning to accept what life had thrown at him and he knew that the more he tried, the more likely he was to still be able to do things.

Robert made a move to begin to push Matthew back inside, but Matthew quickly said, "No. Let me try. I need to learn." If he was ever to get up on a horse, he needed to prove to himself that he could move his wheelchair. Also, the sooner he could transport himself, the sooner he'd claim more independence. Robert stood back and he and Sybil watched as Matthew struggled to turn the wheels of his chair.

Matthew placed his hands on top of the wheels and gripped them. He moved his hands slightly back and keeping a grip on the handhold area, he pushed. The chair inched forward and so he repeated the motion. After he had moved a few feet, he slumped back in his chair, exhausted.

"Matthew, that was wonderful," Sybil said tenderly.

"No, it wasn't," Matthew sharply replied. "I barely moved the damn thing!" He had failed. He was certain of it. How could he ever be even slightly independent if he could barely move his own wheelchair?

"Look at me," said Sybil sternly and Matthew had to obey. "You still have the range of motion to be able to wheel your chair yourself and that is excellent. You simply need to take the time to build up your strength. Matthew, I promise that you'll be able to wheel yourself most anywhere and I believe that could very well happen by about Christmas."

"Truly?" He could not believe what he was hearing his cousin was saying. If he could grip that part of independence so soon, that was something to look forward to, in a somewhat strange, roundabout way.

"Yes," answered Sybil firmly. "I'll talk to Doctor Clarkson about getting some exercises worked out to build up arm strength. You'll never be able to move very far if your arms stay as sticks."

Matthew looked down at his arms and saw that they were indeed, quite similar to sticks. "I should have expected not having any muscle after a month in bed," he sighed. "But, thank you, Sybil. I …I know mere months ago I would have laughed at the idea of wheeling one's own wheelchair as a sense of independence, but now, well, my ideas on such things have changed."

"As have everyone's," Sybil murmured, briefly placing a hand on his arm. "Maybe not with the idea of independence, but most certainly on what is important in life."

Robert looked at his daughter thoughtfully before he took charge of Matthew's wheelchair and began to push him back inside.

"Robert, thank you," Matthew said quietly once he was back in bed, the short excursion alone with trying to wheel himself having exhausted him.

"Matthew, my boy," began Robert. "It was all Sybil. All I did was take you outside."

"No," Matthew said with a shake of his head. "I felt … different outside. More like myself, and less like a cripple."

Robert let out a short sigh, before saying, Please, Matthew, don't call yourself that."

"It's what I am," Matthew stated calmly, surprising himself with his tone. "Robert, you are right about the mind being some of the prison, but I can't put away the reality. I'm paralyzed, physically disabled, a cripple, whatever you want to call it. I will be in a wheelchair. There is no question about that. It's a fact of life.

"Yes, I still have my mind, heart, and soul, whether they're all the same or not, I don't know. I just need to learn that it is the inside that matters. But I don't know how to do that." Matthew didn't know what was prompting him to say what he just had, but he felt that it needed to be said. Maybe if others knew what he was struggling with, he could achieve it in an easier manner.

"That's what family is for," answered Robert. "We're here to help you recover and get back your life."

_**Matthew let out a long sigh and nodded in understanding. It seemed that gradually the puzzle pieces that once had been his life were coming together again. But, there still were missing ones. Would there always be missing pieces or would he find replacement ones? Life was completely different than what it had been before the war and it never would go back to being the same. Certainly, there would be a few traditions that would be revived, but so many of them were gone forever. Change for everyone was on the horizon.  
**_


End file.
